


Do I Wanna Know?

by Tangela



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-07 17:08:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7722811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tangela/pseuds/Tangela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sulu's convinced that Chekov's trying to give him a heart attack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do I Wanna Know?

**Author's Note:**

> It took me a while to write this, as I'm normally a long-winded fluff writer, so I hope it's okay! This can be read as either TOS or AOS Chulu, it's up to you. Enjoy!

Sulu’s convinced that Chekov’s trying to give him a heart attack. He’s leaning over Sulu’s shoulder, one hand on his shoulder, breath hot against his ear.

“I noticed an anomaly on my screen and I wanted to help you correct it,” he murmurs, lips almost grazing Sulu’s skin.

“Uh, anomaly?” he manages.

Chekov nods, little strands of hair brushing Sulu’s temple as he leans over his shoulder. “Yes. You see here? This is wrong, is throwing my navigation off.”

Sulu frowns. There’s nothing there. Everything’s exactly as it should be.

“Here, let me fix it for you.” Chekov slides a hand under Sulu’s arm, deliberately brushing his side, and types something into the console. “There, all fixed.”

Chekov squeezes Sulu’s shoulder, a small smile creeping onto his face when he feels him stiffen, and returns to his own station.  Sulu looks at his screen. Everything’s exactly the same, he didn’t do anything.

“Thank you, Mr. Sulu, that’s much better,” Chekov says, immediately resuming his duties as if nothing had happened. Nothing _had_ happened…right? Sulu’s not sure.

Chekov doesn’t stop at that. He gets into Sulu’s personal space every chance he gets, playing it as casual as possible so Sulu can’t confront him without looking as though he’s making things up. He leans over him to reach for napkins when they’re in the mess hall, stands too close to him in the turbo lift and their hands brush. Sulu doesn’t understand, up until very recently, Chekov was never like this. Easily flustered and shy were more his style. Sometimes a bit mouthy and spoke out of turn, but never this. Sulu tries to convince himself that he _is_ making all of this up.

But it’s not just him. Chekov seems to be making it his mission to get very personal with everyone these days – laughing a little too long at the Captain’s stories, hands grazing Uhura’s when she passes him a report. And each time, he catches Sulu’s eye just for a moment before returning to what he’s doing. Sulu chalks it up to an overactive imagination.

At least, until Chekov finally takes it too far. They’re sitting together one evening in Sulu’s quarters after shift. He knows it’s a bad idea, knows all too well that he’s inviting Chekov back to mess with him, but he honestly couldn’t stop himself if he tried. He refuses to admit it to anyone, even say it out loud to himself, but he’s finding himself falling in love with Chekov, and he knows how sad it sounds, but any attention Chekov gives him is more than welcomed, even though he knows Chekov has become quite fond of flirting with everyone these days. He’s sitting on the other end of Sulu’s sofa, toying with the almost empty glass of scotch in his hand, one finger circling the rim. Sulu downs the rest of his own drink and quickly pours another one, he’s going to need it if Chekov doesn’t _cut that out._

“Are you alright, Hikaru?” he asks, looking up from his glass through his long eyelashes. He’s driving Hikaru mad and he knows it, can see the sheen of sweat breaking out on his face already and he’s barely done a thing. “You’re very quiet.”

Sulu takes another drink, each sip becoming more of a gulp. “Huh?”

“Is something the matter?” Chekov moves closer.

“No, no, I’m fine, really. Just tired. Y’know, long day and all.”

Chekov frowns, but doesn’t press him any further, opting to move another little bit closer. He looks up again, meeting Sulu’s gaze. Sulu’s _very_ uncomfortable now, and far too warm. _Surely that heat can’t be coming from me?_

“Oh,” he says, as if he’s just noticed something, reaching up to touch Sulu’s face, and he flinches.

“There is an eyelash on your cheek,” he offers by way of an explanation, stroking his thumb across Sulu’s cheek.

It’s bullshit, Sulu _knows_ it’s bullshit, but God he’s so desperate for Chekov to be near him like this that he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t move. Doesn’t even blink. Chekov brings his thumb down to Sulu’s mouth.

“It’s yours, so you have to make a wish,” he all but breathes, and Sulu just goes along with it, blows the pretend eyelash away. Chekov doesn’t move, and Sulu can smell the scotch on his breath, can feel it burning his skin.

“Pavel…?”

“Mm?” If Chekov moves any closer, he might as well just take a seat in Sulu’s lap.

“You’re, uh, you’re very close to my face.” _As if that wasn’t obvious._

Chekov says nothing, placing a hand on either side of Sulu, leaning so close that their mouths are almost touching.

“Giving you what you wished for,” he states simply with an air of confidence. He cocks his head to one side. “This _is_ …” He climbs into Sulu’s lap, one knee on either side of Sulu’s hips. “…what you wished for, right?”

That’s it, Chekov has officially taken this too far. How much is Sulu supposed to sit back and take before he does something, really?

“God _yes,_ ” he starts, cuts himself off by grabbing the front of Chekov’s shirt and pulling him forward to kiss him. He knows how desperate he looks, sounds, _feels,_ but right now he couldn’t give a damn – this is real, and God, Chekov tastes better than Sulu ever let himself imagine.

Chekov settles himself in Sulu’s lap, hands in his hair as Sulu kisses him like a man possessed. He can already feel how hard Sulu is and he smiles, gripping at his hair and grinding his hips against Sulu’s. He pulls back, nipping at his lip. Sulu is a _mess_ – pupils blown wide and breathing beyond his control now.

“If I had known you wanted me this badly, I would not have teased you so much,” Chekov murmurs, hips still rocking a gentle, steady rhythm against Sulu’s.

“Liar,” Sulu shoots back, breath beginning to stutter at the friction.

Chekov laughs. “Okay, maybe I would have, but it would have been a lot more enjoyable knowing.”

He trails his hands from Sulu’s hair, down his chest to his hips, fingers toying with his belt.

“I can stop, you know,” he whispers, licking his lower lip and looking up at Sulu through his eyelashes. One hand slides lower, gently palming Sulu’s erection, and Chekov knows that Hell has a better chance of freezing over than Sulu has of regaining his senses and stopping this – he’s too far gone.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he manages, hissing as Chekov’s hand squeezes lightly, “You’ve been driving me crazy for weeks. You owe me.”

And something in Chekov’s expression changes all of a sudden – he lowers his gaze, teeth worrying at his lip. “Yes, sir.”

Sulu groans. _Christ, he’s being submissive._ Chekov is too much and Sulu knows that if he doesn’t do something _soon_ , he’s going to come in his pants like a teenager. And he refuses to give Chekov the satisfaction. He pulls Chekov into another kiss, harder than the last, and goddamn if the built-up frustration of Chekov’s constant teasing the past few weeks isn’t getting the better of him. Sulu slides his hands up Chekov’s shirt, along his back, teasingly light on the way up and nails dragging on the way down, just enough to make Chekov gasp. He’s starting to squirm, Sulu’s beginning to gain some control here. _Jackpot._ His hands move lower, playing with the waistband of Chekov’s trousers, and he doesn’t even need to say anything, Chekov’s already undoing his belt and pulling them off as best he can and it hits Sulu like a train, this isn’t some wonderful wet dream, this is going to happen and somehow Sulu’s head gains back a little control over his body and he pulls back. And God, if Chekov  isn’t the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen – cheeks flushed and ragged breaths pushing past those full, wet lips. His brows knit together in confusion.

“Pavel-“ - and Sulu feels as if he’s run a marathon, it’s taking so much effort just to talk – “Are you sure this is what you want?”

Chekov nods eagerly. “I owe you, do I not?”

And that’s all the answer Sulu needs, brain handing full control back over. He presses a hand to the small of Chekov’s back, pushing him close against him, the other running down to Chekov’s ass. Chekov lets out a needy whine and Sulu’s barely touched him, but he’s already starting to squirm again and Sulu can feel how hard he’s becoming. Chekov tries to slip a hand between the two of them and Sulu grabs his wrist.

“Hikaru-“

Sulu shushes him. “Sit,” he commands, gesturing next to him. Chekov does as he’s told, manoeuvring himself out of Sulu’s lap and onto the sofa. He has his hands in his lap, cheeks red and suddenly very embarrassed. Sulu smiles and moves off the sofa onto his knees, nudging Chekov’s knees apart to settle between them. He tugs at Chekov’s trousers, Chekov lifting his hips slightly to help him. He pulls Chekov’s hands out of his lap, unable to keep the proud smile off his face when he sees just how hard he is. Sulu pushes himself up a little, hands splayed on Chekov’s bare thighs, and licks one stripe along the underside of Chekov’s cock and _Christ,_ the _noise_ comes out of him – something between a sigh and a moan, his hips jerking up a little, and Sulu needs no more encouragement – he takes Chekov’s cock into his mouth, slowly, until he’s as far as he can go. Chekov’s breaths are stuttering from him now, punctuated by little moans and a yelp when Sulu, finally, _finally_ moves his head. He slaps a hand over his mouth, embarrassed. Sulu pulls back, at a crawling pace, sits back on his heels and takes Chekov’s hand away from his mouth.

“I want to hear you,” he says softly, and it almost sounds like an order. He surprises himself with how in control he is, maybe it’s because he’s so focused on breaking Chekov like he’s been trying to break him. Giving him a taste of his own medicine.

Chekov nods, his hands clutching at the fabric of the sofa. Sulu resumes his position, running his tongue as cruelly slowly as he can along Chekov’s cock, hands gripping Chekov’s hips when he rocks forward and almost chokes him.

“S-Sorry- Ah, _fuck- Yebat’-_ “ Chekov’s just babbling now, slipping between Russian and English. Sulu picks up the basic context, and in either language, it’s the same – yes, fuck, _more-_ Until Sulu knows that Chekov is getting close, judging by how frantic he’s starting to get, and he pulls back, licking his lips and looking up at Chekov with the slyest smile. Chekov’s not himself anymore – knuckles white and a pretty blush spread across his skin, from his neck up to his ears. His breathing is heavy, erratic, little whimpers escaping his lips.

“Why-“ is all he manages and Sulu shakes his head.

“Not yet,” he says, and he starts pulling off the rest of Chekov’s uniform, Chekov just letting him. Sulu’s got full control now – after all, he’s the one with his clothes still on. He holds out his hand and Chekov mutely takes it, Sulu can feel him shaking as leads him into his bedroom. He gestures for Chekov on the bed, pulling off his own uniform. Chekov tries to help, and Sulu swats his hands away. Chekov scoffs and makes another attempt.

“Pavel,” Sulu warns, and there’s an edge to his tone that immediately puts Chekov in his place, hands fidgeting in his lap. Sulu has to admit, he is _loving_ this. Finally he finishes undressing and pushes Chekov onto his back, straddling him. Chekov reaches up to touch him and this time Sulu doesn’t say anything, pale fingers running along tan skin, so gently, as if he’s afraid that if he presses any harder, Sulu will shatter right in front of him. He leans down to kiss Chekov, and immediately Chekov’s hands are in his hair, gripping his shoulders, dragging down his chest – as if he wants to touch all of him all at once. Sulu moves lower, mouthing at Chekov’s neck and over his fluttering pulse. He’s shamelessly grinding against Sulu now, desperate for any kind of friction.

“Hikaru, please-” and Sulu stops dead. Is he _begging?_ He pretends he doesn’t hear, leaving little marks on Chekov’s neck, high up enough that he’ll be lucky if the collar of his uniform covers them tomorrow.

Chekov presses further, frustration getting the better of him and any shred of dignity he had left now completely out the airlock.

“Hikaru, please- I need you, I need you to fuck me, ah- I can’t wait much longer-“

Okay, any more of that and Sulu was going to come there and then and ruin everything.  He never expected this of Chekov, never thought he’d be acting like such a- Well, a slut. He presses a hard kiss to Chekov’s jaw before stretching over him to his bedside cabinet, shame creeping over him when he realises that more of the little bottle of lube in his hand has been used more on thoughts of Chekov than Chekov himself would actually need.

“Come on, hurry up,” Chekov urges, running a hand through his hair, and Sulu pushes the thought aside. He’ll feel guilty later. He nudges Chekov’s legs apart, adjusting himself until he’s kneeling between Chekov’s thighs. He rubs a little lube across his fingers, warming it up as he presses a kiss to the inside of Chekov’s thigh.

“Bend your knees a little.”

Chekov does as he’s told, shaking a little, then a _lot_ when Sulu trails a finger along his ass, pressing gently at his hole, moving slowly until it’s inside. Chekov squeaks, his body jerking. Sulu pushes in deeper, up to the knuckle, and when he pulls back, Chekov lets out a loud moan and _Christ,_ Sulu doesn’t want to take his time, he wants to push inside him already and fuck him senseless. But sense kicks in a little, he knows he needs to take his time, won’t be long until he can have what he wants. He pushes his finger back in, then out, building up a steady rhythm, eventually trying a second finger and Chekov’s whole back arches, and Sulu starts to worry that if he doesn’t hurry this up, it’ll be over before it’s even begun. He rebuilds his rhythm, gradually picking up a pace against Chekov, who has quickly become a mess of barely comprehensible words again.

“Hikaru, please, hurry up, I _need_ you-“

He’s suffered enough by now, they both have, Sulu tells himself, slowly removing his fingers. He pulls Chekov a little closer, until he’s almost spread out in his lap, lining himself up with Chekov before slowly pushing in, Chekov arching his back, mouth forming a perfect O _._ Sulu never expected him to feel this fucking _good_ , his imagination had clearly failed him miserably. He leans forward, planting his hands on either side of Chekov’s head before pushing further in. Chekov’s face is aglow, a sheen of sweat breaking out across his skin. If he bit his lip anymore, the skin was going to break. Sulu experiments, moving his hips forward a little – and there it is again, those guttural needy moans he never thought Chekov was capable of. Not that he could blame him when he’s having a very hard time keeping himself quiet. He eventually finds a rhythm, Chekov making it extremely difficult – how the hell is he supposed to keep any kind of self-control with Chekov moaning like that, pushing himself down on Sulu’s cock like his goddamn life depends on it? Every sigh, whine, “ _Fuck, Hikaru”_ are working overtime on him and he knows he’s already getting close, knows Chekov’s bound to be close again, and he quickens his pace, Chekov’s arms around his neck, holding him close. He manages to reach a hand between them, wraps a hand around Chekov’s cock and strokes him in time with his thrusts, and it’s not long before Chekov comes with a string of what Sulu can only surmise are Russian curses, nails digging into Sulu’s skin, whole body tightening, and Sulu quickly follows him over the edge, almost collapsing onto Chekov as an immense shudder rushes up through him. His heartbeat is hammering in his ears, like a train heading right for him, Chekov’s breathing hot and heavy against his skin.

He struggles to get up, realising he’s probably crushing the poor kid underneath him, and slowly pulls out of him, earning one last little spasm of pleasure through his body. Chekov hasn’t made an attempt to move other than resting his arms above his head, and he looks up at Sulu through half-lidded eyes, with a blissed out smile on his face. Sulu swears he’s never seen anyone so beautiful.

“Well...?” Chekov asks, and his voice has a dream-like haze, as if he’s very far away, “Was it everything you wanted?”

Sulu nods, but frowns. “Why are you talking like that?”

“Don’t lie to me, Hikaru, I know you’ve wanted this for a very long time. At least…” And the cockiness slips from Chekov’s expression, leaving him looking very vulnerable. “I was hoping you did.”

“Okay, I’m gonna need a little more than that, Pavel. What are you talking about?”

Chekov sits up slowly with a little wince, and Sulu reaches for his balled-up shirt on the floor and gently cleans him up. He doesn’t look at him, just concentrates on what he’s doing, giving Chekov a minute to gather his thoughts.

“I’ve liked you for a long time. And I thought it was just a little thing, and it would go away, but it wouldn’t. And then- And then you were so nice, and always seemed so happy to see me, that I thought maybe…Maybe you liked me too. And then I thought I was being too optimistic, too hopeful, so…Well, I decided to test it out. You never confronted me, even as I made it more obvious what I was doing, so I thought maybe you liked me too. And I was right.”

Sulu lets his shirt slip to the floor again and he looks up. Chekov’s smiling, but he looks worried. “I _was_ right, wasn’t I?”

Sulu doesn’t answer, tilts Chekov's head back with his fingers and kisses him carefully, as if he’s now scared that Chekov will shatter in front of him. He leans his forehead against Chekov’s.

“Yes, you were right. You’ve been driving me damn crazy, but you were right. I didn’t say anything ‘cause I thought this was a hormonal thing and you were doing it to everyone. But then you threw yourself in my lap and I kinda had to say something.”

Chekov lets out an adorable little giggle, and Sulu’s having a hard time placing him with the scene just minutes prior to this one when he was swearing at him and clawing at his back. He shakes his head.

“I thought maybe if you saw me with other people, you would get jealous,” Chekov offers as explanation, “But you were hard to break.”

“It was hard sometimes,” Sulu admits, “I just didn’t realise your end game until a little too late. But promise me, from now on, no more games, okay? If you want something, just tell me.”

Chekov nods. “Promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> I was a little hesitant about writing this, but I do really love Sulu and Chekov together, and I hope it does them justice. Thank you so much for reading, and any kudos/comments are greatly appreciated!


End file.
